Hogwarts: Upon the Threshold
by ROsterman
Summary: The year is 1938. Petra Weintraub seeks solace and safety within the walls of Hogwarts, far from her home in Germany. But will she truly be safe there?
1. A Note from the Author

Dear readers,

For many years I have wanted to write a nonfiction historical work. For a long time I thought my first book would be from the revolution, an account of the loyalist regiment The Volunteers of Ireland. I have always been fascinated by the time period. More recently I have become fascinated by the stories of World War Two, and the men and women both on and behind the lines.

A friend of mine from high school was born in England. Three years ago, I asked her family to distribute my card to various people they encountered while on holiday there. It provided my name, my email address, and a simple request to hear their families' stories from the Thirties and the Forties. Specifically, I was curious about the impact that American GI's, American support staff and European refugees had on the English countryside. What was it like to have your home turned into a command post? Was it common to see the refugees from the Kindertransport? What was it like when everyone "went home"?

I received some responses, some interest in seeing the final work, and a few kind words. One gentleman from Devonshire sent me a lovely collection of scanned photographs showing his mother, his aunt, and his grandfather all posing with an American officer. The family lore had it that the officer in the picture was Cpt. Lewis Dixon of the 101st Airborne Division, the unit featured in the book and show Band of Brothers. If I am being truthful I do not believe that Cpt. Dixon was ever in Devonshire during the war, but my research is lacking in that area.

I had been trying to organize these replies for a few weeks when a strange parcel arrived on my door stop. What caught my eye was the address:

Mr. R. Osterman

The basement home office

-Address deleted-

-City Deleted-, Michigan

United States of America

North American Continent

As it was, the knock at the door had come just as I was sitting down at my computer preparing to type up another series of potential outlines to focus my research. The box also bore no shipping labels or return address. Inside was a letter addressed to me.

_Dear Mr. Osterman,_

_I came upon your card while visiting a friend in London. I have spent many a sleepless night since pondering if I should call upon you or not. In the end, I resolved that silence was no longer an option._

_Please understand that I cannot trust those of my world to do this story justice. There are too many egos, too many memories, and too many wounds for any to speak with honesty or integrity. It is for these reasons that I entrust you with this task._

_Enclosed with this letter you will find journals, notes, letters, and photographs. These came into my posession with my aunt's passing. When I acquired them, I knew not what to do with them. But when I received your card, I realized that Fate had a grander scheme than she had shown me before._

_Sir, I believe these are meant for you._

_Tell this story as seems most true to you. You have no biases, no history, and no vestment in the affairs of our world. Relate the events, not as we remember them to be, but as this historical record shows them to have occurred._

_But, please, I beg of you, do not allow them to enter into physical print. My world has no interest in your Internet, in your blogs or your electronic empires. As long as this tale remains there, in the realm of data and light, we are safe. Should it find its way to hard copy, however, I cannot vouch for either of our safety._

_I realize the terrible burden this places upon you, and for that I am sorry._

_I remain, etc etc,_

_Cameron McGonnagall_

And so, here it is, provided to the best of my knowledge from the documents sent to me. I recognize that some of what is recorded here may conflict with your understandings or preconceptions of events. I have tried, when practical, to reconcile the timing of events with other known records, but when there was conflict I felt compelled to use the source material sent to me. I will not apologize for this; I am a historian.

Because these events are so difficult to establish as fact, however, I am recording this history in narrative form. I cannot claim the quotations are exact, the actions are specific, but I swear, upon my honor, I shall do my utmost to be true to the history as I now understand it.

And so, I give you this record,

Mr. R. Osterman

Writer and Historian


	2. Prologue

_Often I hear the voices in the night_

_Of Franz and Edith; and I sense their pain_

_When in their letters from Berlin they write:_

_"Be brave and good, and we'll soon meet again."_

_Kristallnacht warned them that they were to lose_

_Their daughter of fifteen who was most dear._

_If you were to survive they could but choose_

_To send you by the Kindertransport here_

-Ralph Elsley


	3. 1: Petra WeinTraub

Petra Weintraub had no idea what to expect as her friend and adoptive brother Christian took her hand and walked through the mystical barrier between platforms Nine and Ten. King's Cross Station itself had already overwhelmed her senses, the bustle of so many bodies moving from one point to another, the shouts she could not understand, the cries of children seeking mothers, and the call of the train whistles and engines preparing to depart. She had clung to the back of Christian's coat as he pushed their trolley along, periodically raising his voice when someone cut in front of them.

This was Christian's first trip to the station alone as well, though he was older than she. At sixteen he was practically a man, though he insisted he wished to continue at school through his seventh year. Petra had spent many nights since arriving in London listening to his plans to work at the Ministry with his father. He had always apologized for rambling on so, but Petra was content to lend him an ear. It was work that had kept Mr. Peters from seeing them off. Mrs. Peters had offered to accompany them as well, but Christian had insisted he could manage to get himself and Petra on the train. She thought, perhaps, that he was trying to impress her. He had no need to. She was already indebted to the Peters family more than she could articulate.

Platform Nine and Three Quarters was no less busy than the rest of the station, but it was considerably different. Most obvious were the bright red locomotive and cars sitting and accepting passengers. Workmen walked up and down the sides of it, pointing glowing wands at various points and patches and shouting at each other with a technical language that Petra believed to be a form of English. As she followed Christian along the platform, they passed two who were making a point of touching up the paint, running glowing wands over this spot or that until the red carriage shone in the lamplights.

"It made its inaugural run to the school last year," Christian explained over his shoulder. "It still took most of the day, but we all arrived at the same time, which was new. And it was a lot better then other ways of getting there, if you ask me." He gave a shudder and Petra choose not to ask what he meant.

The scene was one she had seen before: fathers clasping their sons on the shoulder, mothers clutching their daughters close and holding back tears. This time, however, there was an air of happiness, of excitement. Absent was the fear and uncertainty at the station when she had hugged her mother, and boarded a train for the coast. She wondered what it was like to say farewell to a parent and still believe you will see them again.

She shook her head, her long blonde curls bouncing down over her shoulder. She would have no more of such melancholy thoughts. She was here to learn, to experience the richness of English schooling, and to stay out of the way as much as possible. Crying did not, generally, allow one blend into the crowd, though, perhaps this particular location proved an exception.

Still, there had been enough tears already. She pushed her chin up, as she had been told British girls did, and followed Christian through the crowd.

A tall boy with mussed black hair jogged up behind them and pushed past her to put a hand on Christian's shoulder. "Merlin's toenails, Peters, where have you bloody been?" He paid no attention to Petra.

Christian turned quickly. "Nick?" He regarded the other boy, looking up slightly at him, and then embraced him. "How's your holiday been?"

Petra's mind raced through all the names she had heard. Nick, if she recalled correctly, was also in the Raven house, and was a year older than Christian. She smiled, politely and waited for an introduction.

"No time for that, Peters," Nick answered, pushing the other boy back gently. "The new Slytherin prefect's got a bunch of first years convinced that they need to pay a fee to the Porter Elf Union if they want to get on the train with their luggage. Otherwise they need to leave their trunks at the station until the Christmas holiday."

Christian rolled his eyes. "Who is this now?"

"I think her name's Rubella Something-or-other," Nick responded with a shrug.

"And you sorted her out?"

Nick shook his head. "She's a _prefect_, remember, mate? Why would they listen to me? I'm just a prankster seventh year who's lying to them to get them in trouble."

Christian grimaced. "She has a point. You are known for being a bit dynamic in your portrayal of the truth. Apparently even students not yet sorted have heard of you."

Nick looked annoyed. "Are you coming or not, Master Ravenclaw Prefect?"

"I'm coming." Christian started to pin his prefect badge to his vest then paused. "What's she charging?"

"Twelve pence."

"That's all?"

Nick laughed. "I know. I mean if you're going to charge them in muggle coin, might as well see if you can sucker them for a full quid."

Petra watched the exchange with quiet politeness. When Christian started to follow the other boy into the crowd she was too surprised to make a sound. He stopped a few feet away.

"Oh, Bandersnatch," Christian cursed. "Where are my manners?" He grabbed Nick's arm and pulled him around in a loop to face Petra. He paused, thinking and then began. "Ms. Petra Weintraub, may I present to you, Mr. Nicodemos Squab, seventh year Ravenclaw and wizarding-world-renowned prankster. Mr. Squab: Ms. Weintraub."

Nick smiled down and took Petra's hand. He winked as he bowed forward and kissed it gently. "I assure you the pleasure is entirely mine, Ms. Weintraub. Surely the good prefect must have been mixing some Felix Felicis if he has found you on his arm." He lowered his voice, conspiratorially. "You're far too pretty for the likes of him."

A moment ago he had barely registered her presence, and now she was "too pretty". Petra's mind raced back over the words, a blush of confused embarrassment dashing over her cheeks. "_Bitte_," she finally whispered, still allowing him to hold her hand.

Christian poked Nick's ribs with his elbow. "Don't mind him," he apologized. "He says that to all the girls."

"Christian Peters," Nick scolded, taking his hand back from Petra. "You're going to hurt her feelings, going on like that. There are at least a dozen girls I would never say that to."

Folding his arms, Christian looked back at him. "Any them not in Slytherin?"

"Well, no," Nick admitted. "But that's not the point. You said, 'all,' to which I provided a necessary counterexample, the girls in Slytherin (if one can call them girls, really), thereby invalidating your statement. Q. E. D."

Petra let out a nervous giggle as the two boys bantered. Christian shook his head and turned to her. "I really need to deal with this Slytherin. Can you get yourself onto the train? I promise to check on you before it gets underway."

She glanced around. There were so many noises, so many people. "_Ja_," she said, cautiously. "I will be good."

Christian smiled. He lifted her suitcases off of the trolley. "I will see you in a few minutes then." He headed into the crowd, pulling the trolley behind him. Nick winked, bowed deeply, and followed. Picking up her luggage, Petra looked around at the mobs of families, and began to carefully make her way towards one of the doors to the train.

She could not be under his care at all times. It was best to start learning her own way now. Holding one piece of her luggage in front of herself, and the other behind she took the steps up onto the train car. She started down the tight hallway, and watched as one after another the compartment doors slid shut. The sound of them latching seemed to echo above the din of chattering children and protective parents. At the end of the car, one compartment door remained open. Petra took a breath and started towards it.


	4. 2: A boy with black hair

He had been watching her for some time, taking note of how she worked the gaggle of first year students. Her prefect badge gleamed in the morning sunlight, set off against her dark muggle dress. She was a solid girl, broad shouldered, and red cheeked with black hair cut in a bob at her chin. It framed large brown eyes and a mouth that revealed no joy despite the wide grin that crossed it. He had enjoyed more than enough time to study her.

She had stated she was part of the Slytherin House. He was not completely sure what that meant but he had some ideas about how boarding schools operated. She had confident sway over the crowd of younger students. Was she naturally gifted in manipulation or had she cast some spell he had not seen? He reflected his meeting with one Professor Dumbledore, the first person to confront him about what he could do, the first man he may actually fear. The world was a different place now that he knew others shared his secret.

Two more boys approached. They were both older and taller than the crowd the black haired girl held court over. The sandy-haired one too had a prefect's badge affixed to his chest. A tall boy, with mops of black hair, stood behind him. The gaggle of fellow first year students was no longer interesting so he assigned names to the three principal players in his mind: the Girl, the Boy, and the Tall One. He watched and studied them.

"Right, what's going on here?" the Boy demanded as he approached.

The Girl grinned at him. "I am simply making sure that the Porter Elves Union gets their due. I wouldn't expect a Ravenclaw to know the least bit about such matters. After all, the P. E. U. is a new development and not something you'd find in one of your ancient philosophy books." She shifted to address the gaggle. "Don't believe what you've heard about House Slytherin. We understand the downtrodden. We look out for those less fortunate than ourselves."

The Boy had to stifle a chuckle. "As long as you can use them to some end." He folded his arms across his chest. "How much have you fleeced these first years for?"

"I beg your pardon." She folded her arms as well and glared back at him. She had an impressive glare for a girl. Perhaps the whispers of diagon alley were true about the kind of pupil selected to this Slytherin House. "I am merely making sure that they understand the value of the various house elves who make our lives as wizards a little more comfortable."

The Tall One interjected. "You Slytherin lot only notice the elves when your dungeon gets too cold and you need someone to yell at so your hot air can warm the place up again."

The Girl shook her head and gestured at the Tall One. "See what I was saying? Ravenclaws are the most pompous house, always looking for a way to belittle the others to bolster their own egos. Only a Slytherin will be there, without judgement, when you need them."

The Boy shook his head and put his arms up. "Right, my name is Christian Peters, and I'm a sixth year, and I'm a prefect as well." He gestured at the Girl. "Miss Leaks and I have arranged this little demonstration for you as a preparation for the kind of situations you may well find yourself in at Hogwarts this year. Over the next day or two you will learn all about loyalty to your house, and the kinds of pranks people will pull to win the House Cup." He started to clap. "Why don't we show our appreciation for the fine performance Miss Leaks has given you."

Confused the gaggle of first years all started to clap. The Girl, scowled back while he talked, but forced a polite smile when everyone started to applaud. Even the Tall One joined in, slapping the Boy on the back once. Leaks began to return the money to the new students while the Boy smiled at her. His seemed good natured enough. He was going to be one to watch: clever, charismatic, and good natured.

The money returned, the Boy and the Tall One turned and boarded the train. The Girl remained on the platform for a bit longer before waving to a friend and moving into the crowd. The first years stood around for a while, then each started to carry their suitcases and trunks onto the carriage.

He watched all of this with a kind of quiet detachment, searing the images of the Boy, the Girl and the Tall One into his memory. She, in particular, could be useful to him, as might the Boy. The Tall One only held potential if he were sorted into the Ravenclaw House. Otherwise he was quite forgettable.

He took up his suitcase, its only contents his books for the year, and made his way along the platform away from the scene. Several cars down the line he boarded, and looked down the carriage corridor. All of the compartment doors had been closed, except for one. An uninteresting girl with curly blonde hair was making her way towards it.

He had no interest in sharing a compartment with people making idle chatter. The blonde girl turned and looked at him, her dark eyes catching his. She made a polite, nervous smile. He offered no reaction, instead turning and switching to a different car.


	5. 3: Petra Weintraub

Petra approached the compartment door with a nervous optimism. She had been by Christian's side nearly all of her stay in London so far. She had met his friends, his family and his neighbors, but always with him to provide the introduction. Home, she had not been a shy girl, at least not until the most recent times. There were still voices within the compartment.

"Hobson, you are simply being obtuse and obstinate. There is positively no reason for you to be making such an event of this." It was a girl's voice, with a practiced flow and perfect diction.

A boy's voice answered. "Ms. Wraxton, I fear that I must insist. I do beg your forgiveness, but it would be completely improper for us to share a compartment alone." His voice too had a formality that Petra did not expect, but where the girl's was anxious, his was calm and collected. Her first thought was that she was listening to a young teacher casually keeping his patience with a very excited first or second year.

She was not relenting. "But you will happily share one with me as long as we have a third?"

"That would be considerably less improper, Miss Wraxton, yes."

Petra winced a little as she tried to adjust her suitcases in her hands and peer around the doorway.

"Pardon,_ ist es hier besetzt?_" She could feel her cheeks warm with her intrusion, hastily adding, "Is there room?"

The boy turned and smiled at her, a warm and genuine grin of greeting. "Oh,_ Guten Tag, Fraulein. Nein, nien. Bitte!_" His accent was rough and unpracticed but no less welcome.

Petra's spirits soared. "Ahh-_ Du sprichst Deutsch! Gott sie Dank- ich hab' Deutsch so sehr vermisst. Ich verirre mich so oft und mein Englisch is noch schwach_."

The boy's face showed his sudden frustration. "Oh." His eyes darted between the other girl and Petra. "I am so terribly sorry," he continued, "but I did not understand a word of that, miss. I'm afraid that you've already heard the long and short of my vocabulary. That is, unless you'd like me to offer you another cup of tea."

Petra made herself smile, attempting to hide her disappointment. For a moment she had quite forgotten where she was or what she was pretending to be. She closed her eyes a moment and tried to refocus. "Thank you for the attempt, herr," she said finally. "Is there room for me here?"

The girl stood up from her seat and took hold of one of Petra's suitcases. She put the bag on a seat, and then reached out to shake Petra's now-free hand. "There assuredly is room for you. I'm Desdemona Wraxton and it is very nice to meet you and add you to our compartment." Before Petra could say a word, Desdemona turned to the boy. "There. Now you and I are not alone and you stop your foolish chivalry and just sit down already."

The boy shook his head and folded his hands behind his back. Desdemona eventually released Petra's hand, which the boy reached to take. . "James Hobson, at your service, _frauline_."

Petra sucked her lower lip in and chewed at it nervously. "Petra Weintraub," she said finally.

James reached for her other suitcase and helped her into the compartment. "A pleasure to meet you, Miss Weintraub."

The three sat down and enjoyed a quiet moment to breath. James still looked a little disconcerted with the arrangement. Petra's first impression was of a gentleman valet or the like. Her own father had never hired such help, but they had visited family friends who did. Petra looked out the window. It would be more proper to say that their family friends had employed a valet for the house. She remembered hearing that they had let him go. A slow sigh escaped her as she thought of home, quietly watching the bustle along the platform.

There was a loud bang behind her as the door to the compartment was pushed wide again, the wood slamming on its track. "He's a spy!"

Petra turned to see a diminutive girl with tangles of mostly-tamed brown hair and dark severe features standing in the doorway, her arms wide to stretch across it. Her eyes were bright with her revelation and her cheeks red with excitement.

"For the love of- get in here before you cause a scene," Desdemona said pulling the smaller girl into the compartment. James calmly slid the door shut behind her. "Now sit down, Loretta, and get a grip, else you'll bring half the prefects down to see what the commotion is."

"Indeed," agreed James, taking a seat next to Petra and opposite the two other girls. "If he, whomever he is, actually is a spy, one is not improving the state of things by shouting it to the entirety of the train."

Loretta took a breath and looked around frantically. "But I know it and we need to get proof."

Desdemona's lips turned into a polite smile. "If you don't have proof, how, exactly, do you know he's a spy?"

James coughed. "Or, perhaps the conversation would be a bit more fruitful if the rest of us knew exactly who 'he' was. If I am not mistaken, Hogwarts does have, give or take, four hundred twenty 'he''s, not counting staff."

Loretta was not to be dissuaded. "Desi, I'm telling you he is. I just know it." She turned to look across at James. "It's Professor Sline, you know, Divinations. It all makes so much sense. He's trying to help the Germans plot their takeover of Britain by using his ability to see the future." She turned towards Petra and, without missing a beat, asked, "And, who are you?"

Loretta's bluntness caught Petra off guard and unprepared. She and Christian had rehearsed this very scenario many times, though never quite with the intensity of this particular inquisition. She could feel the blood leaving her face as she tried to provide her scripted answer. For two weeks they had done this, she and Christian, running the same questions until her responses were smooth and natural. But in this moment, nothing came to her mind. Instead she stared back dumbly at the small, walnut-haired girl with the piercing brown eyes.

"This," James intervened with a smooth voice that Petra found immediately calming, "is _Fraulein_ Petra Weintraub, and our guest. She is..." He looked at Petra. "I am sorry, but where did you say you were from?"

Petra could not take her eyes from Loretta's. "Austria," she finally coughed out.

"Are you?" Loretta's voice betrayed her disbelief.

"_Ja_," Petra answered, finally looking away as she tried to focus on her practiced lines. "My school, it is in Austria. I am, how to say, an exchange student?"

"See," Desdemona also offered in Petra's defense. "She's not even from Germany."

Petra's heart was falling. These two, Desdemona and James, had welcomed her into their compartment without hesitation, yet here she sat lying to them both. How could she say she was from Berlin itself, the heart of Germany? And if this Loretta was convinced that there was a German spy at the school, would Petra be able to keep her secret? How long would she have before she was found out?

"You know," Loretta said, still staring at Petra, "speaking German would be really helpful in proving that Professor Sline is a spy." She reached out and grabbed Petra's hand. "Welcome to the first official meeting of the Hogwarts Honorary Homeguard. Loretta Squab, Captain of Guard and Minder of All Things Beasty."

Petra turned from James to Desdemona, unsure of what had been said and hopeful that something had been lost in translation. They both shared her look of confusion.

"The what, Ms. Squab?" James finally asked.

"The Hogwarts Honorary Homeguard," Loretta repeated. "We're going to be the first line of defense for Hogwarts by rooting out any spies that the Germans have planted there to undermine Britain's magical defense."

"I think you've been reading too many muggle newsprints," Desdemona said with a chuckle.

"Just because the Daily Prophet doesn't print it, doesn't mean it's not important," Loretta retorted. James remained silent.

"Well," Desdemona replied, lifting her chin and turning to gaze out the window at the passing countryside, "my papa insists that there's nothing to worry about. It's none of our business what the Germans do within their own borders, just as it's none of theirs what we do. Live and let live, my nanny always used to say."

Petra chewed at her lip silently. There was, likely, little point in saying anything uninvited. The best she could do was to enjoy the train ride and hope that no more pointed questions were asked. She caught a glimpse of Christian in the glass window of the compartment's door. He nodded at her, and smiled. She returned it as best she could, still nervous to be on her own. Petra watched him make a small wave and then disappear up the car hallway.


End file.
